


Motherland

by themidnightpost



Series: The Other Side [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Gen, Horror, but they're part of the reason this story even happened so here we go, claude is a curious boy and we love him for that, claude's parents are only briefly mentioned here, you know what they say about curiosity tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26752744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themidnightpost/pseuds/themidnightpost
Summary: Why is it that no one seems to know anything about the other country across the mountain border? And those that do, won't say a word?What makes Fódlan such an open, yet taboo secret?Claude is going to find out, one way or another.
Series: The Other Side [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948405
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	Motherland

As the lights within the terminal came into sight, Claude felt his own internal light shine all the brighter.

Soon, he will be on his way out of the country for the very first time in his life.

Soon, he will finally have the answers to the questions he could never ask.

_For as long as he could remember, it had been obvious to everyone--including and especially Khalid himself--that there was more to his family’s history than any of their neighbours could understand. While his father and every other person could be nothing other than Almyran, his mother was not. She only spoke her birth country’s name once: Fódlan. And even then, it was in a whispered conversation with his father that she did not believe Khalid to hear._

_Fódlan was a tricky subject._

_While it was not exactly a secret that it existed, it was simply not talked about. Their neighbour across the mountain range to the west had no easily accessible information regarding its history, culture, language, or even current events. Asking anyone in Khalid’s generation resulted in the same lack of knowledge, asking anyone of the older generations resulted in nothing._

_Of course that could never hope to stop Khalid._

_Over the years, he collected any scrap of information he could find. While almost all of the libraries he searched came up empty, the capital’s main branch was home to a small family of Fódlaner textbooks--each volume so old, Khalid had to take great care with them as he studied to ensure they did not entirely fall apart. As for the internet, most official sources simply turned up zero results; with only rumour threads and the occasional speculative blog providing the finest of crumbs to work with._

_So Khalid did what he had to do._

_He saved his money, and as if presenting him with a graduation gift, a single bus bound for a Fódlaner border town then offered fares for purchase._

_Upon being informed of their son’s trip, his parents’ demeanors changed immediately, and did what they could to stop him. Calling the bank to freeze Khalid’s account failed due to his newly-acquired majority age, and barricading his door was useless when there were other possible exits. While of course concerned about their reactions, they only served to stoke Khalid’s curiosity further, and he resolved to see this through._

* * *

Showing the ticket barcode on his phone to a sleepy employee, Claude is directed towards the two buses currently awaiting their passengers. One has a shortening queue, and the other which matched the number on Claude’s ticket, has none.

The driver is already in place as Claude boards, seemingly otherwise preoccupied. As the young man finds a seat, he notes that the bus is relatively empty, with only a few scattered caps peeking from amongst the other seats. Figuring he may have arrived early, Claude sets his bag next to him, and as he begins to settle in, is slightly surprised to hear the engine start up and the doors close.

As the bus traverses the road winding up into the mountains, Claude takes more stock of his surroundings. He tries his best to get a good look at the scenery outside, but once the bus leaves civilisation (and lit roads) behind, he gives up on that effort. All he can see are the faint outlines of the dark mountains against the cloudless, and almost moonless, starry sky. Instead, he listens, and finds that the other passengers are whispering. It made sense, given the late hour in which most would want sleep.

What made his ears prick up, however, are their words--he cannot understand a single one.

The more he listens, the more he thinks they may be speaking Fódlaner, although he cannot be completely sure, as he only studied its literacy, and never so much as heard a single word of it spoken before.

To pass the time, he pulls out a notepad and jots down what he is able to transcribe. Many ‘words’ he gives up on the moment he writes them down, as they bear no relation to any he knows. A few, however, do ring some bell or another, and those he circles to come back to, already onto the next sounds his ears can catch.

After some hours, the whispering dies down. Claude takes this time to review his circled words, scrawling notes and possible translations in the margins. He sinks into his work with a determined focus, not attending to the sensation that even the lack of whispers raises the hairs on the back of his neck.

As the bus descends the other side of the mountain range, Claude notices two things: the architecture coming into view looks very old--even the infrastructure in poorer, rural Almyran villages are by far and away more modern than these, and that there are no lights on.

Expecting the bus to drive down the streets and park at the local terminal, Claude’s eyebrows rise as the bus instead comes to a halt right at the outskirts of town. The driver’s silhouette gets up and steps out the open doors, as if prompting the passengers to follow. Claude does so, tossing his things back into his bag and exiting.

He takes a proper look around this time, unfettered by his vantage point in the bus. The buildings nearby remain shadowed, as there are no streetlights to be seen. The starry sky above him is exactly as Claude remembers seeing it before leaving Almyra, despite the hour rising near dawn.

He then plays host to a sudden, belated thought: despite crossing the border, why didn’t a single person ever ask to see his passport?

As if jump started by that question, the bus behind him roared back to life. The crunching of gravel under its wheels had Claude swivel back to search for a driver who could not possibly still be standing outside with him anymore. The autodidact frowns as he further notes that not only did no new passengers board, but none of the others who booked this route ever disembarked with him, either.  


The bus turns and climbs back up the road it came, taillights fading from view faster than they should have.

With nothing else for it, Claude shifted the bag into a more comfortable position, and began walking down the single street before him. He first passes by small houses spaced out from one another, with the buildings gradually growing taller and closer the further he walks. It is both very quiet, notwithstanding Claude’s soft footfalls, and very still. No animals rustle across the ground--not even a single ant shares the road with him--and no wind breathes.

Checking his watch to make sure his timing is correct, Claude notes that it took him twenty minutes to reach the town centre, and still no visible temporal changes have occurred. Here, most edifices appear to house businesses rather than people, and there is a fountain encircled by the town’s streets. The motor is off, however, with its basin holding water so still that it beautifully mirrors the stars above. A sign nearby states the town’s name: Kupala.

The still water in the fountain shows the smallest of ripples.

Reacting on pure instinct, Claude dives for the nearest alleyway, blending into its shadows as if he has done this all his life. For a while, his curiosity threatens to win out over his sense of self-preservation: where is everyone, and why is every part of his being suddenly screaming at him to ensure no one does see him?

As much as he is practically dying to find out who--or what--is approaching, for once in his life, his thirst for knowledge capitulates. Breathing quietly and slowly so as to time it with his steps, Claude sidles along the wall behind him towards another perpendicular alleyway and takes a deep breath before peeking around the corner.

Luckily, there appears to be nothing but a few barrels, crates, and miscellaneous wooden planks scattered against the walls. He draws closer to some, chancing a quick look within the convenient hiding space they’ve created to ensure it is not occupied--or compromised--and hops in. Claude draws out his phone and breathes an inaudible sigh of relief that it maintained its lowest brightness setting and high battery level. That relief vanishes, however, upon discovering that there is no signal, and no combination of data options helps, either.

‘ _Of course_ ’ Claude mentally groans, then locks his phone, draws further into his hiding place, and steadies his breathing. He cannot explain how he knows that he is no longer alone in the alleyway, but he knows.

His next options flood his mind, begging for his rapt and immediate consideration. The two loudest are to shrink back even further, hide, and hope he isn’t noticed; or to run, fast. The former seems to be the most realistic he can go with, as he has no idea what is out there, and if he remains hidden, he can retain his energy and time to strategise. However, if he were to take that route and be discovered, it would require a miracle to then switch tactics and still escape with his life.

Claude has no more time to think, though, as something in the air he never realised was moving comes to a still. Without needing to see anything but the crate before him, he feels eyes on him. It occurs to him within a split second that he cannot determine just how many eyes have seen him.

Second option it is, then.

Trying to keep his breathing as controlled as possible (hyperventilating now while running would only deplete his precious stamina), Claude leaps out of hiding and dashes full tilt down the maze of alleyways before him, fighting as hard as he can to think faster than he--and his pursuer--can move.

While it would make sense to try leaving altogether, the land between Kupala and the mountains is too open and spacious to flee out of sight. He immediately throws out the idea of trying to tire out the being chasing him. Turning every corner in random directions for now seems to be the only way he can try to throw them off.

The footfalls behind him do not stop.

After another unpredictable turn nearly loses him his sense of direction, Claude finds what appears to be a church’s spire soaring above the rooftops nearby. Banking on the hope that a deity he knows nothing of to even believe in would provide even a brief respite, he quickly turns away from the church and twists around several other buildings before making a hairpin turn around the next corner in its direction. Reaching its back door, Claude attempts to open it, fully expecting to challenge a lock, but to his surprise swings in easily and silently. Not about to waste the precious seconds he has out of his pursuer’s sight, Claude slides in and closes the door behind him, breathing out a silent gratitude for its subdued cooperation. Yet, to his dismay, there was no lock, nor anything nearby to bar the door with.

Turning back, he finds himself in a darkened chapel, with immaculately maintained pews and statues, and curtains drawn over every window save the skylight above. Continuing to move silently while searching for hiding places and escape routes, Claude also allows himself a moment to sate the curiosity that brought him here in the first place. He makes his way towards the altar, leaning towards a tablet with writing inscribed on it.

Claude squints as he tries to read it; most of the words are deemed unfamiliar, but a few nonetheless stand out. A quick glance at the notepad in his bag confirms his new suspicions: not only are these the same words he recognised from the whispers on the bus, but they also refer to protection, light, and--

Something strikes the stone floor behind him.

Claude turns, eyes wide with realisation, and fear.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy first day of Halloween!  
> You'll be glad to know (or maybe not, who knows lol) that in the process of writing this lil oneshot, I ended up forming enough explanations/lore to patch up any potential plot holes, and that this ain't over. Not by a long shot!  
> Welcome to The Other Side <3


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